Songbird: The Mistral Arc
by Skimp-Scamp
Summary: A songbird of war sings a song of sorrow, even as it perches on the shoulder of the victor. For a songbird is not raised in war. It is captured. The ballad of war is as proud. It is grief. Forgive the songbird that rehearses the four verses, stained red. Warning: Rated 'Mature' for future chapters (violence, gore, and various adult themes and references.) I.E, most are 'T' rated.
1. Hatching

_**The world of remnant has always been a grim existence, to those who wander its' surface. Monster of decay and bone hunt only for pleasure and without apparent reason, warning, nor any mercy. Humans and their more animalistic counterpart, the Faunus, live to be at each other's' throats. Add on top of a bad year for crops and the unexplained encounters with Atlassian forces on Mistralian territory, and it can easily be said how tough of a year it's been.**_

 _ **But even as we strike our stones and steel in desperation of light, every now and again, a spark is born. Will she grow into a grand flame of warmth? Or, will she smother?**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own RoosterTeeth nor any RoosterTeeth creations. This is a fan project with no canonical connections to the series it is inspired by; RWBY.**_

The taloned steel of a boot crashed down onto the matted down mud, beneath it. The light of a lantern flickered against the hide sheets of the tent as it anxiously danced with every wind passed by the pacing figure. Maps and bounty letters occasionally skid as the tempered, reddened leather coat waved with every sharp turn of his calloused heel.

Iron armor softly chattered and leather belts clung to the thick cotton beneath; a rhythmic jingle followed in tune by the leather purse at his hip as it bounced, to-and-frow. Arms clasped behind the feather-like plates lined against his lower back, scraping against the chain mail beneath. Broken and uneven, akin to the tattered jute cloth hastily tucked into his iron cuffs and chest.

The beastly man paced with a calm mask over his worn, oaken skin. Lips, as flat as they could be and without a tremble. He bore the personification of a warrior; fearless and unstern.

And yet, his eyes…

Red eyes focused on nothing, not even ones' feet as he marked idly in place. Pupils narrowed sharply in a panic at the muffled yells and sounds, partially muffled by both distance and the thick layers, of his shelter.

A much more lithe man sat on the edge of the mercenary's bed, tattered hood covering his pale face. He spoke in a silken, aged voice; matched kin-ly to his leathered skin and silvering hair. "Touma….slow your pacing. She will be fine. They both will be."

The hulking figure turned, the usual, guarded sharpness in his faded-red eyes. "Do not manipulate me, Krish. You and I know very well that the chances of survival on BOTH ends are very low. I have every right to be worried of her! More so than you, more so than the shaman, more so than anyone in this damned guild!"

His nostrils flared like a wild hog, trapped within the trap he finds himself stuck in. Large, tanned hands stretched and curled into claw-like strains, his knuckles white from this action.

The monk puffed out a small sigh through his scarred, rosy lip. Fragile hands reached up to his hood, gently lowering it to rest against his back. He stared up with pale, Marigold eyes and a kind smile. "Touma, I know…but, you must calm yourself." He managed a carefree laugh, despite the tense, heavy air of the dawn. "You're practically pounding the dirt into stone! "

Touma lifted up one of his taloned boots, blinking at the sunken in mud. He grunted, looking off with half-lidded eyes before the old man continued. "My dear friend, we all worry about them. Just as we worry about each other on a day-to-day basis." He puffed out a small chuckle, his voice carrying an ever-so-slight wheeze. "Granted, this is no scale of our current fears we now face, this bleak 'morn."

The tensed giant opened his mouth to speak, only for the flat palm of the monk to be held up in silence. "We must keep faith, in our hearts. Your wife would like you to do so, you know? Besides, we all know that with fear…"

The dark man sighed, his salt and pepper brows furrowing and his fingers ran over his scruffy chin. "Comes Grimm…we cannot afford such possibilities in our weakened state."

The reality of their situation came blaring through his current fears and doubts. They were forced to set up camp in the dawn-lit forest, miles away from civilization. That is to say if whatever town they were to come by would even offer a roof for Faunus; much less, an actual doctor.

He sighed, running his hand over his still-damp mane, which miraculously still stayed straight and feather-like, even after the rains of the previous midnight storm.

Attuned ears picked up on the ever-growing cries of agony, along with the shouted demands of the shaman and the scurrying of her helpers. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, staring pleadingly at his indentations, in the mud; as if he expected them to answer to his doubts.

He blinked, looking back as he heard the linen on his bed being pat. He and his life-long mentor shared a nervous smile before he carefully sat down next to the frail, old man. To which, he carefully had to help him retain his balance as the layers of padding flatted like a river stone beneath his rump.

The monk snorted, shaking his head. "How can one of your breed have the weight and build of a bull, shikra?"

The younger man laughed, despite himself. "My mothers' womb must've had last minutes ideas for me." He swallowed back a spike of nervousness. "…Bad time, for that particular type of joke."

The old man pats his shoulder, grunting softly as he had already closed his eyes. Touma looked down at him, a brief tremble traveling down his back before bringing his knees beneath him. He closed his eyes, resting the palms of his hands against the metal "feather-plated" grieves against his thighs.

He was not one to be religious, but all the rung through his mind was a silent, pleading prayer.

After what felt like too long, the drapes of the entry flew open to reveal a young teen, his black ears, one of which appeared to be chewed up, flattened against his head. Mud splattered against his calves, as well as unknown smears against his forest green undershirt. He panted, looking at the two who were now on their feet. He only but offered them a wordless nod, his trembling lips unable to get the words out.

The two looked to each other before making their way out. Touma accidentally shoving the boy as he took off towards the shamans' tent, making a mental note to apologize later.

The fog clung to his sweating skin and dripped from his plated armor, his breath huffing out clouds of hot steam onto the chilled, early autumn morn. Red had already begun to bleed into the morning skies, ever-so-slightly lighting his way past the thick, morning vapors.

He barely halted himself to a stop as he entered the tent. A cloud of morbid silence hung onto the air as the shaman slowly turned to him. Placing a small hand on his chest, their pierced lips offered a slow, growing smile. Her accented tone spoke out, "That is the quietest baby I have ever seen."

She chuckled as he let off a breath of relief. The crowd around the new mother turned, eyes widening as the noticed who had entered. All dispersed from her figure to allow their chief to make his way towards her.

Her eyes slowly opened to him, inviting green eyes practically forming a smile of their own above her rising, freckled cheeks. A small, blue feather tied into her bangs that clung to her dampened face. Only blankets covered her now deflated form, a familiar petiteness nearly there, from her youth. Cheeks stained with tears, from both the birthing and the labor. She weakly reached a hand out towards him, the bloodied rags from beneath her finally forming an almost orange ring around the blood soaked into it. She had managed to stop bleeding, at least excessively. Pale, golden wings fluttered as they began to release their protective form around their newborn child.

He hurried his way to her, practically chuffing as he gripped her thin hand in his, kissing her clammy fingers repeatedly before moving to her head. She giggled, tucking her head beneath his chin before directing her attention down to the tiny swaddle.

Despite her pre-matureness, the baby had survived her passing from the womb. Her body gently covered in extra, pale linen; contrasting with her bright pink, rose skin. A few tuffs of pale, grey hairs sat on her practically bald head. With still closed eyes, the infant turned her attention to the new figure.

Touma shakenly hovered his hand over her, almost frightened at her fragileness. His lips quivered before he swallowed back and let out a small 'hello.' Almost immediately, afraid the infant would think his voice was too rough and raw for her.

Tears could only prickle in the corners of his eyes as the infant's mouth twitched ever so slightly as if to try and smile. Yet, unsuccessful, she let out the tiniest grunt as she snuggled against her mothers' breast.

The young mother looked up, fatigue clinging under her eyes like darkened weights. Even so, she spoke up in her clear, gentle tone. "Did…I do well?"

Touma let out a wet huff of a chuckle, nuzzling his nose into his hair as he sat on the edge of her bed. The shaman and her helpers let out a few laughs before she tugged on the backs of their shirts, dragging them out.

He looked down pridefully, "How could you not? Look at what you made. No man is prouder than I, this morning."

He looked as if he was gonna continue to gush on before a thin, ivory finger ghosted gently upon his lips. Blinking, he frowned as he could only wait to see what she was doing. Her eyes closed in concentration, he could only just realize that she was listening as the quiet forest suddenly echoed with the song of the morning bird.

Opening her eyes, she smiled delicately. "Wren…" Looking down at the infant that slumbered against her bosom; carefully adjusting the linen around her. "What a wonderful name…"

 _Damn, this has been a while coming! And by that, I mean working on it two years ago, posting it one on , tons of regret, and not touching it for too long. I ran across the old file on my pc and decided to look it over and saw it could use some improvement. It was both a blessing and thorn in my side that my old word program was 'expired' or some shit. Thus! I actually tried to do something, for once! Will maybe do more. Maybe. Criticisms are much appreciated!_


	2. Chapter one: Angels and Spirits

Rain came down like a nymph's cursed words against the recently stationed tent; as typically to be expected from the late afternoons of the deep, Mistralian brush of the humid summers. The fading bodies of the nightmarish hounds hisses quietly as the rains pulled from their slashed limbs and torn chests; small, black rivers poisoning the wet clay beneath until the blackness was pulled, even from the still-puddling waters as it faded into nothing, rising above them all.

Still standing warriors went to work, relocating the nomadic people caught within the fight into makeshift shelters tended to by the younger members of the tribe and any experienced elders.

Storm-grey eyes peaked out from behind the flaps of the tents; her tiny, olive-skinned hand clenching gently at the tempered hides Dusty brown hair worn in a messy braid traveled past her neck to just tickle the bare skin of her back; her bare toes curling into the mud as she gradually inched forwards. Tiny wings that formed odd patterns of charcoal grey, pale brown, and the occasional 'off-white' pressed firmly against her back; closing in and following the straight form, of her torso.

"Aren't you supposed to be meditating, little bird?"

Her tiny voice called out in a surprised yelp as she quickly spun on her heel, nearly slipping and falling as her arms and wings frantically flapped to gain her balance, once more. The old man casually sitting on his mat laughed out in a wheezed tone as the seven-year-old stomped, directing a pouted lip at him. He freckled cheeks attempting to form a scowl, despite the warm redness across her cheeks and nose.

Her voice naturally crackled in a boyish tone, "Master Albus! That's not funny!" She frowned, her wings settling back down against her back as the old, cloaked figure grunted as he weakly pushed himself up with his maple cane.

Walking over, he continued to speak as he hobbled and limped. "My dear, I know it is hard to focus. But, you mustn't let your emotions for beasts of both man and Grimm clouden-"

Her arms straightened out, fists balled up and shoulders hitched as she momentarily corrected him in a non-threatening, raise-of-tone. "I'm not worried about that! Daddy's got'em! All of them do! I just..."

The little seven-year-old crossed her arms behind her back, wings fluttering before wrapping around her in a protective fashion; a nervous habit developed as young as when she was a bashful toddler. She looked over her shoulders, through the crack of the tents' entrance as both members of the guild and the nomadic tribe hustled about.

The old man made his way next to her, resting his calloused palm against her shoulder in a nurturing manner. He watched as a couple children were either walked or carried into various, available tents within their camp ground. It clicked after a few, hot moments.

He chuckled, patting her back as he began to lead her back to their rolled-out mats. Efforts weighed on his voice as he lowered himself to sit, once more. "Ah-hah. You have never seen another of your age before, have you?"

She flopped down lazily like a wooden doll tossed onto the floor, legs played out and shoulders slumped before she corrected herself and crossed them. She spoke in a cartoonishly exasperated grumble, "I've never seen another of my size, before."

He chuckled, opening his mouth to speak before turning to see the tribe's leader hold open the flaps of the tent. His dirt smudged face immediately lit up upon the sight of his daughter. His tired eyes squinting ever-so-slightly as scarred lips pulled up into a grin. He kneeled with an arm open just into for the spry child to fling herself into his barreled chest.

His broad hand carefully cupped the back of her head before she eventually unhooked herself from him. Stormy eyes flashed with lightning of excitement as she spoke up at him, "Dad! What happened? Did you do it? Did-ja win?"

He smiled softly at her, pausing in a moment of hidden grief before he nodded; his shoulder moving just a bit to block the limited view from behind the tent's apron. Only but the feet and heads of men could be seen, one walking backwards towards the direction of what she remembered there being a ditch, when they first arrived to the scene. Then, it was only a small camp of a few families and traders, seemingly abandoned and without proper guard.

He ruffled the top of her head, briefly changing the subject; almost desperate to hear her innocent laugh. "Weren't you supposed to be meditating?"

She groaned, her tiny hands attempting to slap away the gapping paw on top of her head, "DaAaaAAad, you're supposed to be the fun oooonnne~!"

"That's a lie and you know it."

Turning, the view of her mother came into picture. Proudly, her golden wings hung stiffly behind her. Across her tied skirt and oversized shirt hung various pouches, books, and self-brewed commodities. Her sallow, yet brilliant mane of wild hair hung to-and-frow without care across her shoulder, back, and even some of her face. Her spring green eyes beamed at them, a sassy turn of the him and a sneer turned up as soon as she was noticed.

She walked over with a strut in her step, leather boots padding into the mud. "Your father is as serious as the stones beneath his feet. As well as anything else he accidentally smooshes. Branches, bricks, tiny, defenseless animals; incapable of committing sin upon these-."

A grunt interrupted her as he quickly spoke out, "Stars above, I stepped on a frog ONCE, Clovyr."

A polite cough caught the three's attention as they turned back to whom followed behind the golden sparrow. A lithe man with matted, brown hair stood with a concerned fog filling his eyes; guilt resonating from his body's posture, alone. His quiet voice called out, "...Touma, was it?"

The hawk blinked at him before standing back up, allowing the small child to blink and look past him, once more. Her eyes widened at what clinged onto the coattails behind the man.

A young girl with wet, short cream-blonde hair stood behind him. Her pink eyes travel the details and surroundings of the tent with vivid curiosity; white lashes blinking past before back-tracking and sticking to the form of the small bird.

The two stared at each other for a moment, the discussion between the adult fading out into the rain's white noise. The younger girl's skin was what she always imaged the snows of Mantle to be; pure, soft, and the whitest she's ever seen. Short, chopping hair clung to the other child's cheeks and jawline, messy in a way that was as if the child cut it, herself. Unlike her own rags of baggy, cotton pants and an oversized tank top she, herself wore, the other girl wore a vibrant dress of blanched blues and violets that contrasted greatly to her pale form.

She blinked, and so did follow the other child, in suit. Though matted and previously drooping, a slightly curled tail soon began to follow the corners of her lips; pitching up before wagging ever-so-slightly.

"You hesitate. Why?"

She flinched, the clay cups and pot clanking against the wooden tray she held them on. Wincing a bit as some hot tea spilt a bit from the spout, soaking into the cloth resting against her chest. She glared at the old man who simply smiled, raising up his hand in an apologetic gesture. "Ah, forgive me. Did not mean to startle you. I should've been careful, you seem rather...stiff."

The young child sighed, closing her eyes momentarily as nearly an hour of carefully explained information replayed in her head, within a few silent moments.

The closest person considered to be the "leader" of the nomadic group, the man who her mother led to their tent the night before, he was the 'client' that their tribe had originally accepted contact for. Jun, a name she had picked up on from distant conversations, was in need for a escort to lead them to, 'The Windpaths;' an area she was familiar with being in relation to the icy harbor of North Mistral, infamous for its chilling, frozen, and yes, windy lands surrounded by snowy flat lands and dangerously sharp and rocky cliffs that curled right over the angry seas.

She nearly giggled to herself at the mention of 'snow.' The white wolf would probably not be able to see even herself, when caught in the mounds of snow.

The bay had an odd name. Something clearly inspired by their most frequented traders from the frozen capital of Mantle. Her father just said to call it, 'The Spice Bay,' when talking to any of the nomads about it.

It was gonna be a typical trade of aid. They send some of their men with them, they get paid after the deed, and then they come back. That was, until a conflict of interest occurred; beyond the Grimm. Mantle soldiers carried supposed 'sticks that breathed fire and iron,' demanding council for their generals. She didn't understand why her father was angered by it, but it caused him to come to agreement to accompany the nomads and traders, along with a small number of the other mercenaries. Jun was not happy with this, yet he humored her father and prepared to listen in.

She sighed before opening her eyes at the monk, smiling softly. "I...I'm just nervous, that's all. I never had a...well, you know..."

He furrowed his thin and fading brows, his lips parting slightly. He leaned down a bit, murmuring softly down towards. "Little bird...you know you can always ask me anything."

She pursed her raw lip, tongue running over them before coyly biting them, once more. She smiled before playfully puffing out her chest, puffing a large breath from her nose. Krishs' lips twitched in amusement, a personal signal for her to turn and confidentially step into the tent before her.

Peeking inside, her eyes instantly fell upon the furs spread out across the floor and the two figures slumbering within them. The delicate, pale child lay curled without covers. Her chin tucked into her own chest, forehead nuzzled against the woman under the covers. Instantly, she felt her stomach curl and twist, uncomfortably.

While the young child was pale, she at least had a slight rosy complexion upon closer inspection. But, the woman? All color drained from her skin, the sweat beaded on her chest and forehead held more tone than her washed-out flesh. Her chest occasionally shuttered, a whistled, moist wheeze constantly sounding; a scary contrast from the loud rumbles carried out with every breath, compared to the practically stone body. Unlike her daughter's blonde hair, her own was a grey that seemed yellow like rotted paper; matted from sweat to her face and bubbled skin that formed around her hairlines and cheeks. A sourness carried up to her nose, a smell of unwashed rot that she was too familiar from whenever she passed the sick bay. But, this close?

She turned, letting out a shuddered breath as she forced herself not to grimace, closing her eyes tightly. She slowly turned on her heel, sighing before opening her eyes. Perhaps, now was not a good time. She took a step.

"...Are you an angel?"

She froze. ' _Angel...?'_ She frowned, turning to tilt her head at the girl. "I-I'm sorry, what?"

The canine faunus still laid against the woman, her still tired eyes looked onto her petite hand as it curled around the limp, clammy fingers of the slumbering figure. She turned her eyes back to the avian. Her voice was soft, feminine; and oddly, always curious, in-tone. "You're an angel, right? You and the kind lady. Are you here to take my mother? Mother said..."

The alabaster girl hesitated, her eyes turning back down to her mother as her shallow breaths shuddered; body hesitating as if she were to awaken to the mention of herself. She did not.

The delicate pink in her eyes nearly seemed to flood with blue as she stared down pleadingly, at her mother. Her hands gripped at the furs covering her, "She told me about her home and how angels would come down to lead the dead worthy of solitude, to whatever heavens awaited them. That they have great wings to carry souls and strong, yet gentle arms to cradle them..."

She looked back at the bird, brow raised perplexedly as she studied the weak wings that instinctively wrapped to cover her shoulders in a self-conscious manner. "...Though, I must be the first to admit...I do not believe you would be one to lift, on a regular basis. Nor do you carry their esteemed...elegance."

Her heart sunk a bit, wings going limp in sudden fatigue caused by this sudden melancholy. She looked over herself, dawned in patched up pants and a sleeveless top, already drenched in sweat from her morning exercises. Her limited vocabulary did not comprehend a lot of what she said, but two important things clung to her; insults aside, that was. She looked like one of these supposed 'angels,' destined to reap the souls of those dying, and this girl thought she was gonna take her mama from her.

Her lips trembled as her voice tried to remain strong, "I- N-No! I'm like you! I...just have them. So does my Ma. I don't know where this 'heaven' is, anyways! I've been in Mistral my whole life, so-" She cleared her throat, teeth quite literally clenched down onto her tongue as she forced her ramblings to cease. "I, um...I wanted to give you tea!" She held up the tray, offering a crooked smile, weakened from her efforts of trying a bit too hard. "See? It's Chai! I've been saving a box since I was five, and...I thought you may want some of it."

The canine blinked, a soft smile creeping onto her lips as a sudden huff escaped her; a fist rising up to attempt to catch the tiny giggles that began to escape her. The bird titled her head, blinking before furrowing her brows. She puffed out her chest, attempting to instill a tough persona. "H-Hey! It ain't funny! Chai is not funny, it is delicious! I think. It's been a while, okay?"

The wolf held up her hands, waving them dismissively. "N-No, it's fine. I just-... Please...Will you join me?"

She stood up, gathering a goat pelt un-used by her mother's feet before dragging it to the other side of the room, nearby a small table. She pat next to her, the songbird taking a moment before pulling in a deep breath and walking towards her. The wolf took the tray, setting it onto the table as the bird plopped down next to her.

The pale girl rose a brow as she examined the clay, handless mug. Her tail wagged ever so slightly, the warm spices of the tea filling her nostrils. She blew soft breathes over the steaming drink, completely aware of the bird staring at her in awe.

"...Are you a spirit?"

The wolf blinked, turning to the avian who stared at her with chaste eyes. She smiled, her voice ringing purely with comical intrigue. "What do you mean?"

The mellow bird's smile grey as she held up her hands, speaking avidly with excitement. "You look like the snow. One of the spirits who comes and goes with the passing seasons. They are the souls of animals who've proven themselves either brave, selfless, or fierce. They bring the pretty stuff, like painted leaves or soft snows. O-Or they bring the storms, gnats, and everything not-so-fun. The good and bad influences of the seasons." She gulped before explaining quickly, putting down her tea as she blurted out. "N-Not that I think you're bad! You're small and kind and- Well, er...You gotta be good! Hahah, heh..."

She tilted he head, gripping her chin as she looked down briefly in soft confusion. "...But...It's the summer. So, you make no sense as to why you exist."

The wolf bursted out in near cackles, setting down her tea as she hunched over, shaking her head. She spoke out, laughter still clinging onto her spoken words. "N-No, I'm not a spirit...Like you said, I'm kinda like you." Her smile grew warmly as the bird blinked at her, her nearly whitened eyes widening like growing clouds at the young wolf faunus. Giggling again, she carefully reached for her olive-skinned hand, the bird flinching before relaxing and allowing her to continue. Placing her hand on he chest, her soft, pink eyes fell warmly upon her like a comforting hearth. "Azalea. It was my father's choice, mother tells me. You can call me, Lea."

The bird blinked before smirking bashfully, turning her head for a moment to draw a nervous breath. She reached over with her free hand, picking up the rosy hand of the older child and placed it on her own chest. She smiled in a brief moment of confidence, "Wren. But, you can call me...Wren. A bird chose it."

Azalea found her chest ringing wonderfully with more laughter, her head turned and tucked downwards into her shoulder as to not laugh directly in Wren's face. "A bird chose it? How did your parents even find themselves taking advice, from a bird?"

Wren frowned, her own lips twitching into a grin before breaking out into a small fit of giggles and hiccups, as she spoke. "No! A bird didn't _tell_ my mom to name me that!" She snorted before shaking her head as her giggles began to calm. "Pfft, silly~. That'd be silly. You see, my parents tribe usually name their babies after what they are, what they resemble, or in my case..."

Wren smiled softly, removing her hand from the one holding Lea's rosy palm, to her chest. She tapped her ear before beaming a proud, off-center smile. "What they hear! It was dark and quiet, Dad says. But, after I was born, he said 'miss morning bird,' began her song. Mother loves her song, so she named me after her. Wren!"

Hana snickered, nodding softly at her. Certainly, an interesting way to receive a name. "Well, okay then. Wren, it is."


	3. Chapter two - Eventide Brings Quiet

Songbird: The Mistral Arc

Chapter two: Eventide Brings Quiet...

Evening fell to a pink hue, over the campsite. A few men struck at their steel with blackened flints as sparks sprung out from their curled log forks. The air already began to soft to a comforting coolness; the blades of the halo-ed meadow stilling their dances for the night, in leu of the sky's creeping, violet rest. Tribes folk sat in their sociable circles around their soon-to-be fire pits, already munching on hardtack; everyone's least favorite meal, consumed nearly every night, of the year.

Wren's freckled and sun-kissed nose wrinkled up into a disgusted snarl as she stared down at the biscuit. Hard like a rock, yet dense like a dried-up sponge. With a huff, she tossed it onto the table; arms crossed and wings fluttering within their own separate tantrum.

"Tack, tack, tack, nothin' but tack! Every night! Tack this, tack that! Got a stomach ache? Here, have some ginger and TACK!" She spat down at the bar, closing her eyes as she groaned. Brows twitched as she heard the soft clacks of bronze mugs behind her, relaxing as her mother's soft chuckles lowered to her level as she felt the fabric of the furs mat down next to her. She sighed, pleadingly looking up at her mother. "Can't...can't we put some pepper on it? Pleeeeaase~? I'm sure the merchants-"

She gagged and sputtered as the tack was shoved back into her mouth, her mother returning her suggestion almost immediately. "-Would lose profits that could very well effect their own well-beings, if we took more than needed from them."

The songbird whimpered as she looked back to her limp hands, her wings falling against her back in a somber manner. Clovyr attempted to comfort her as she plopped her hand down onto her head, playfully ruffling it before combing her fingers through smoke-brown hair. "We mustn't snap our jaws at all the good offered to us..."

She smirked as she booped the tip of her nose, with a free hand. "I'm pretty sure your teeth would break if you snapped at that, anyways."

The small child's eyes snapped up to beam at her, a gasp pulling into her lungs as she practically vibrated in place. Her lips spread apart, her nearly full set of teeth gleaming up at Clovyr; her front tooth chipped and broken from biting the ground too hard at yet another failed attempt at flying. "Then maybe I'll get my grownup teeth!"

She gripped her tack, opening her mouth as if to chomp down on it. The angelic woman snorted, leaning back in bellowed laughter before gripping her daughters' chin, pulling it from side-to-side as the rest of her head followed. "You do that, people will start calling you 'horsey' with a overgrown set, like that! You really want that, birdie?"

Wren giggled giddily, managing to push her mother's arms away. Gripping her hands into fists, she nodded triumphantly up at the tall woman. "Yes!"

The two laughed, only stopping as they heard the drapes of their tent pull back. Wren grunted and panted as she quickly attempted to get up, nearly tripping before zooming to grip onto her dad's knee. His face previously looked in thought shifted into a genuinely surprised, yet pleased look as the tiny hug bandit clinged to his shin. A muffled "papa," buzzed against the thick cotton of his pants.

With an awkward shuffle, he made his way over to his now-standing lover. Firm lips pressed to each other briefly before he pulled back with a sigh, "...Days like these remind me why I am no Politian." He grimaced, grumbling past his clenched teeth. "The fool...couldn't get a word out without him being all top-'n-tidy, like some sort of damn-"

Clovyr's hands pulled him down into yet another kiss, his growls and frustrated squawks creeping into silence as he relaxed into their embrace; their daughter now being the one to grown and grimace and her parent's sloppy affection. She pulled back, briefly whispering "language," before walking back over to their bundle of furs and pelts. Patting next to her, she called over to them. "Now come over and eat your supper."

He looked down at his still clinging daughter, whom confirmed his suspicions with unhoused tone. "Tack, again."

The beastly man chuckled, reaching down to pull her from his leg. He tossed her over his broad shoulder as she screeched in laughter. "C'mon, slugger. We all gotta suffer from something. And it's either tack or your mother's cooking."

He did not flinch as he sat down, simply grunting as a fist went straight into his gut; his daughter sliding off his back to flop down onto the bedding. He managed to weakly grin down at her; an old spark of rivalry connecting like a pulled fishing line between the two.

She scoffed, shaking her fist playfully into it barely rubbed off his nose. Turning back to the mugs, she offered one to him. "Oh yeah? Suppose you would prefer another wife who gave you swill instead of the good stuff, hmm?"

The sweetness of the mead clung to the air beneath his sensitive nose. While still technically swill itself, it was at least more satisfying to the pallet than watered-down ale and beer. Stars, he may have been a man, but he would never pretend to like the bitterness of stale grains and watery hops. And at least she took the effort to learn the craft of wine-making; a practice she learned after being took-in by the leader of the mercenaries after refusing to not let her care go unpaid for. The corners of his lips turned as he reached for the mug. "Okay, okay...you win this time, angel."

Wren blinked, looking past them at the pale flicker of a nearby lantern. The words left her mouth, without a second thought. "That's what she called me..."

Her parents looked down at her, her father frowning and tilting his head curiously. "Her? What do you mean by that, 'lil scout?"

She turned back up at the, face slowly morphing into realized fear as her a-gap mouth flapped uselessly, like the broken hinge of a nut cracker. Her mother gave her the look, arms crossed and all. She only had to raise a brown before the little bird sighed and gave in. "I, um...Lea. Az-ale-lee. I talked to her, today."

Touma slowly nodded, grunting as his voice eventually pulled through from the turning gears, of his head. "I... see..." A smile eventually took his lips, "This is good!"

The two looked up in shock at him, a moment passing before his lover snorted with her hand resting on top of his. "Really?"

He simply nodded before confirming with a simple, "Really."

The golden sparrow giggled, their daughter continuing to stare silent stars at her father from his acceptance of it. Clovyr shined her canines at him, "Mr. Touma 'My daughter must be prepared for her _day of transference_ and can never have fun' Shikra, let his child get away with skipping out on her studies?"

The lumbering warrior scowled down at her; the hawk's maple-red eyes piercing down at her before surrendering at her playful peers. He looked back down at his daughter, his scarred lips pulling up as he plopped a hand down on top of her head. "Whatever helps wear her out, in time for bed."

She growled, gripping both hands around his meaty wrist. "Never! Sleep is for the weak!"

The hawk sneered, lifting her up as she continued to hold onto his arm. Holding her face up to his level, he spoke. "And you, slugger, are still very weak and need your rest to become strong."

She squealed out in surprise as he briefly blew a raspberry against her cheek before letting go and resigning her fate to plop against the bundles of covers. Her giggles slowed to a halt before she looked back up to her dad. "...Like you?"

His eyes briefly swelled with pride before he leaned down, throwing the pelts over her body in an instinctively protective measure. "I was going to say like your mother. But yes... you are also my daughter. The best of the both of us. Except for looks, that is. Stars, you'd live a very unfortunate life if you inherited my mug." He pecked her nose, grabbing the lantern nearby the table. "Get some rest, little bird... You're getting up early with me, tomorrow."

Clovyr's eyes widened, pupils narrowing at what he was possibly implying. She gripped at the edge of his sleeve, causing him to turn and return her worried gaze. Red connected with green marbles, a silent conversation shared between two bonded souls. He softly nodded before she sighed, forgoing the argument held back behind her tongue.

Wren looked between the two of them, her hidden nose and mouth peeking out from behind the bear's skin. Her voice came out in an anticipated whisper, "...Are we...scouting out together?"

He offered her a single nod, watching on with a gentle smile as she rolled herself in a cocoon; her excited rambled muffled from the thick furs. Clovyr leaned against her lover's shoulder, the two allowing the child to let out her excitement, for a few moments.

After a bit, she peeked back up at them. Her lambent smile shining brightly at them, "Can I have a sword?"

"No." He answered a bit too quickly, her smile deflating into a curved line. He gripped her nose, pinching it and shaking it between his pointer and middle finger. "I do have a bit of a present for you, though. Albus worked very hard-."

The storms in her eyes flashed excited lightning at him, "Master Krish made me something?! What is it?"

Clovyr leaned down, her hand cupping the top of her head; sweeping the curve of her head as she pushed her bangs back to kiss her forehead. "Now, now. That'd ruin the surprise~."

Wren giggled, closing her eyes at her mother's tender affections. "But, it's not my birthday! I don't turn eight in 7 and-a three quarters-of-a-month!"

A rough chuckle puffed from his nose, "Eight, sweetie. And... tomorrow is special. I recruited his help for when you join us. It was gonna be later, but..."

Clovyr continued his sentence with her casual, playful manner she always seemed to bring forth. "That, yoooooouuu~..." She pulled her hand back, wiggling her finger as she mover it forward until it jabbed into, Wren's chest. "Have to make up for missing training this morning, anyways."

Wren looked up in child-like horror; akin to a young one in school and receiving homework, on a Friday. "You mean...I still have to train, after it?!"

Clovyr pointed down at her, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. "The sooner you get done, the sooner you can see..."

Wren blinked, taking a moment to realize her mother was hinting towards a name. Her wings fluttered in excitement, "Oh! Azalea! She's the pink girl!"

Her parents frowned, her mother tilting her head and being the one to speak as Touma remained content to listen. "Pink? I thought she was more so...pale."

Wren nodded, confirming. "Uh-huh! She is! But, when I got closer, I noticed she wasn't just snowy. Kinda like...The lotus when it first opens, and the petals aren't quite pink. She's pink! But not like mama's pretty dance dress, like...Like..." Her voice lowered into an incomprehensible mumble, her hand gripping her chin in thought. Her parents openly smiled down at her in amusement, looking to each other as if they were prepared to interrupt. Her eyes snapped open as she suddenly shouted out. "Like, if you complimented a snowman, and he got embarrassed!"

Her mother snorted, laughing into her hand. Wren frowned, blinking and sputtering before clenching the pelts in her fists. Her cheeks spread with warmth, the feathers on the wrists of her wings fluffing up in response. "H-Hey! What's so funny?!"

Her dad shook his head, a smile remaining on his face. His large paw rested on her shoulder as he carefully laid her back down. "Nothing, little bird. It's a perfect description." Around the same area where his wife did, he too pecked at her forehead. "Now, get some rest. You get up early enough, you may be able to say goodbye to your new friend."

Tucking half of her face under the furs, she nodded almost shyly before turning on her side and curling up. Her father stood back up, taking the lantern back into his hands as he took it along with him, outside the tent. Clovyr stood up to follow, only pausing as a voice reached out to her.

"...Was she right?"

Clovyr turned back to her daughter, her silken smile curling as she whispered back to her child. "About what, songbird?"

Stormy orbs turned to the corners of her eyes, staring up at the golden sparrow; the moonlight reflecting past her white-gold feathers and wild mane of hair. Her skin seemingly glowing with a pure aura as the light shown past her. "...Are you an angel?"

She blinked, a small huff passing through her nose as the mother's chest swelled a bit at the question. She thought for a moment before answering, "...Angels are...ideal, at best."

Wren's bottom lips fell, her lips pursing and pulling in a twitch to the left side of her face. She glanced briefly at the golden wings on her mother's back, "Why's that, Ma? Master Krish says ideas are good. That every move, song, and word come from one."

Clovyr closed her eyes, her pale lips pulling into an adoring smile at the naivety of her child. "They can be. But everyone has their own spirits. Or rather...'angels,' as the Atlassian's have always preferred them to be called. Different already, yes?" Wren simply grunted in conformance, nodding. "Well...your good...is not someone else's good. I don't want to be someone else's 'good.' Nor, would I ever want to be my own. I do not trust the flawless. They are either inexperienced with life...Ooooor, they are simply liars. Strive to experience and embrace your flaws, that is how you gr-uh..."

She cleared her throat, her curled knuckle pressed firmly against her lips as she tried to pass the dreadful word, from her lips. "...That is how you grow. You're your father's child..." She flashed her a mellow smile, those storm-grey eyes practically sparkling up at her. "You're gonna be strong, if you allow yourself to grow." She pushed aside the girthed curtains of the tent, her voice whispering out in a coo. "Sleep tight, little bird."

Wren watched quietly as her mother ducked out. Looked down to her hands, eyes studied her soft palms before clenching them. She closed her eyes, huffing as her chest momentarily puffed out; head held high and the bridged of her wings stiff. Tomorrow, she'd have the change to roughen her hands. She wiggled in place, flopping down forcefully to stop herself from springing up with excitement.

 _Growth..._

She rolled a bit from her side, lifting the helm of her shirt. She pulled free the hidden, half-eaten piece of biscuit tack that was tucked securely in her pocket. She clenched it in her teeth, laying back down as she nuzzled into hides layered beneath her.

Clovyr stopped at the hide curtains of the tent, she stared at the blades of grass,

Continuing out, she looked back up to catch her husband leaning against one of the young black pines that surrounded their camp. He offered that familiar, comforting smile; small and warm, like the glowing ember of a hearth. She sighed, marching towards him before bumping her forehead against his chest. He chuckled, looking down at her as she murmured into him. "...I don't want her to grow up."

He tucked a strand of hair, behind her ear. Humming as he listened, he took a breath before continuing. "If she didn't grow up, she'd never be able to protect herself. Then, we'd wither away as our flower awaits the storm."

Gripping his dark gambeson beneath her fingers, she looked back up to him. Hesitantly, she managed a smirk up at him. "Ah, so you really don't mind her being as strong as you, hmm?" He rolled his eyes down at her, grunting in response; flinching as her fingers traced his jawline, pink scars lining his umber skin as raven hairs scarcely covered it, thinly. "And frankly, I prefer your 'mug.' Even if it was a bit difficult to look at, at first."

 _Whew! This was a longtime coming! Sorry for the wait. Life 'n shit, y'know? Work around 60 or so hours during mid-September through late October, so it's a bit difficult to find the time for writing. I apologize in advance for the long waits to come. Hopefully, during the winter, I'll have more time to write since I won't be getting as much labor hours._

 _As always, happy reading and feel free to leave a not or personal message me with critiques or anything 'Songbird' related!_

 _I do not own RWBY. RWBY is owned and produced by RoosterTeeth. Please support the original show!_


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